


Have we meet before?

by thenoodledream



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Bromance, Bruce Wayne is a Good Bro, Bruce Wayne is annoyed, Canon-Typical Violence, Clark Kent is clumsy, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Clark Kent, Whump, boy scout, but he tries his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenoodledream/pseuds/thenoodledream
Summary: An extravegent gala in Metropolis and a lead on a drug-ring has brought Bruce Wayne and Batman on a business trip to the bustling city.  Seeming to always attract trouble, Clark Kent and Superman is quickly swept up in the investigation, causing mutiple unfourtunate encounters with their alter egos. With Bruce Wayne in trouble and Superman in danger, the two help eachother out without realizing.
Relationships: Batman & Superman, Batman/ Superman - Relationship, Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/ Bruce Wayne
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary:  
> Bruce Wayne attends a gala and is introduced to a rather annoying reporter.

It was going to be a long night.

He was itching to skip the event altogether, but one stern glance and a patience hum from Alfred quickly shutdown that idea. Luckily for him though, Batman needed to pay a visit to Metropolis as well. A new powerful strain of opioids had been flourishing through Gotham's underworld the past month. It was much more addictive than the usual strains of drugs and the rate of overdoses had skyrocketed. After a few interrogations and sleepless nights, Bruce managed to trace the supplier to the industrial sector in Metropolis. Waiting for the bat computers to finish an extensive background check on all the warehouses was proving to be a test to his limited patience.

So here he was. Miles away from Gotham, outside of an extravagant gala in Metropolis.

  
Bruce Wayne hadn’t made a public appearance in a while (an Arkham breakout on top of the opioid crisis had kept him very pre-occupied) and the tabloids started to stir. As much as Bruce hated to admit it, Alfred was right. He still needed to keep up with the affairs of Gotham’s White Knight. Especially this affair, as rumors of his attendance caused a stir in both Gotham and Metropolis. After all, it was an event hosted by Victor Damera himself.

It was a name he hadn’t seen make headlines in a long, long time.

Over a decade ago, Wayne Tech and Damera Industries dominated the tech sector. Thomas Wayne and Jamie Damera were strong allies in their business and personal life. Fond memories of greeting Uncle Damera and playing with Victor in the meadows behind Wayne Manor filled his head. Uncle Jamie was over as often for family dinner as he was for business. A familiar dull ache in Bruce’s heart came and faded quickly. He still remembered Uncle Jamie’s funeral. It was the last time he had seen Victor, and frankly, he wanted to keep it that way.  
But nevertheless, here he was. It would be suspicious of Bruce Wayne to pass on an invitation to a gala, let alone the chance to party with Metropolis's most elite.

He purposely arrived an hour late, claiming to Alfred it was to keep up his nonchalant playboy attitude, but they both knew it was just to spend the least amount of time there and the most amount of time on the case.

  
With an exasperated sigh, he let his features lighten, ran a hand through his elegantly styled hair and entered the building with a charming smile.

\-----

The hum of charismatic chatter and clanks of champagne cheers covered the gala in a warm and joyous tone. Clark anxiously shifted in his shoes, brushing out the creases in his suit trying to shake off the evident feeling that he was very out of place. It was normal for reporters to attend galas like these, but the swirling of tuxedos and dresses worth more than a year’s rent heightened his nerves. It had been a long and stressful work week at the Daily Planet and the last place on earth he wanted to be was here. But Perry was very insistent that Clark went tonight and made it quite clear that if he didn’t have a story by tomorrow morning, to _"not bother coming in at all."_

Clark politely accepted an offer of champagne from a bottle girl in a feeble attempt to blend into his surroundings, as his eyes scanned the crowd. The event started an hour ago and he still didn’t see any sign of the man he was hoping to interview. He usually didn’t mind waiting but being in this crowd made him uneasy. His foot softly tapped in annoyance. Where was this airhead playboy?

As if on cue, he saw Bruce Wayne ceremoniously enter the gala, immediately being swarmed by hospitality, as a bellman took his coat.

Clark silently pouted. No one offered to check-in his coat.

  
He tuned in with his super hearing, picking up the conversation with ease.

“Welcome back to Metropolis Bruce! Nice to see that smile of yours again.” A woman cooed.

“The pleasures all mine, the party scene in Metropolis is so much better. Especially _the ladies_.” Bruce flashed a grin, practically making the growing crowd of women around him melt. Clark rolled his eyes.

_The guy was such a moron._

“It’s really nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne! I’ve been following Wayne Tech’s advancement for years, and you’ve done a fantastic job. Could give Victor here a lesson or two on running a successful company.” An older man chuckled, but his eyes were sincere.

  
“Thank you very much, but I’m simply here to show an old friend some support and congratulations. I’m looking forward to seeing Victor tonight, it’s been a while.”

It had indeed been a while; Clark knew that much. Ever since the death of CEO Jamie Demara, the company went into a downward spiral. Victor the new heir to the company, tried his best to fill his father’s shoes but failed miserably. The company's motives started to change and any resemblance of its golden reputation faded with the late CEO. Damera Industries was constantly tied in court with accusations of fraud, mob-relations, and blackmail. Thomas Wayne even cut ties with Demara Industries, claiming that their companies values no longer aligned. As Wayne Tech continued to dominate and define the tech sector, Damera Industries was reduced to the punchline among cooperate talk.

But yet here he was, a decade later at the celebration of the re-branding and re-vamping of a new company, now known as VD Inc. To his luck, Clark saw Bruce Wayne charmingly excusing himself from his small fan-club as he walked to the bar to order a drink. Now was his chance.

Clark impressively weaved through the crowd considering his large stature and made his way towards the billionaire.

“Nice to meet you, Mr.Wayne. I’m Clark Kent from the Daily Planet– “

  
“- Oh c‘mon you reporters never enjoy yourself. Soak it all in, you probably don’t get the chance to experience this that often.” Bruce said smugly, playfully gesturing to the extravagant venue. Clark refrained from snorting and bit back an impolite retort. He took his Ma’s words to heart _: “if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all.”_

“A whiskey on the rocks for my friend here,” Bruce announced to the bartender.

Friend? They had just met. But then again, Bruce Wayne did appear like the superficial type. In an instance, Bruce whisked away from his still full champagne glass and replaced it with a whiskey.

“This will help loosen ya up. I’d take one too but had a wild time yesterday, just sticking to champagne for now.” Bruce chimed taking a sip of his drink. Clark lifted an eyebrow in confusion as he could most certainly tell that was _ginger ale_ he was sipping on. Only someone with enhanced scent could tell, but of course, that wasn’t a quality Clark Kent would possess.

“Thank you for the kind gesture, Mr. Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you tonight, but If you don’t mind, I have a few questions regarding your past business relations with Mr.Damera-“

“-Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to all welcome you to my gala tonight!” Clark huffed as he was cut off again, but this time from a different airhead playboy.

The strong voice boomed from the microphone followed by loud cheers and applause. Victor Demara stood proudly at the podium, standing with a commanding posture and a charming smile.

“I’d like to thank all of you for your support this past year. As you know, Damera Industries has been dormant for quite sometime, but I am determined to bring it back to its once prosperous and cutting-edge status!” Again, loud hollers and applause filled the venue. Clark glanced back to catch Bruce’s reaction, but to his surprise, the man was gone.

\-----

Bruce slipped away into the crowds, getting away from the annoying reporter. As reputable as the Daily Planet was, he wondered why they would send such a babbling idiot into the field. He must have been a new guy. Quickly disregarding the reporter, Bruce made his way through the crowd focusing on Victor’s speech instead.

“Most importantly, I’d like you all to hear that I vow to bring great honor to this city and create Metropolis back into the booming tech center it once was. I’d like to thank my old childhood friend Bruce Wayne for attending. You have been a big inspiration to my comeback, and I cannot thank you enough.”

The crowd roared in cheers and “awwws” as Victor's face beamed gesturing to him. Bruce beamed back brightly, flashing his pearly whites and lifting his drink up in friendly acknowledgment. He received pats on the back from the people around him and toasted with a dozen more. His breath shortened with annoyance.

_God he absolutely hated these galas._

Victor's speech droned on about declared promises and the vision he had for the new company. Despite how wonderful all of the promises were, Bruce had heard this spiel all before on the lips of hollow politicians. He had to admit though, he was impressed with Victor being able to gain so much capital so quickly. He must have secured some high and mighty investors for the re-launch, which was impressive within itself. Especially for Victor. But it had been a decade since he saw him.

Perhaps the man had changed.

“Thank you again for all attending, and please enjoy the night!” Victor declared with a toast.

Finally. An opening for him to leave. Bruce politely excused himself from his current conversation ( not like he was really listening anyway) and headed out to the far-left corridor where he had been the coat check-in was. Out of the corner of his eye just as he was walking into the hallway, he caught a glimpse of a familiar reporter from across the hall hastily making his way towards him. He could have almost sworn he looked concerned. Probably desperate to get anything out of him to meet his deadline for a mediocre report.

He had enough with the large crowds and nosey reporters for the night: it was time to investigate the warehouse.

\-----

  
“Thank you and please enjoy the night!”

As the crowd started to disperse returning to their conversations, Clark's eyes scanned the room for Bruce and cursed when he could not find him. Perhaps he was getting his jacket.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Where is the coat check-in?” Clark asked the nearest bottle girl to him. She flashed him a confused smile as it was painfully obvious Clark was still wearing his coat.

“Hallway to your right sir.”

Clark sheepishly thanked the lady and searched for Bruce. He was determined to get a statement or two for his article. He’d take chasing after a billionaire asshole than dealing with Perry’s bitter disappointment any day. He just caught the glimpse of the black-haired man before he disappeared into the left hallway. Weird. Guess the bottle girl was mistaken. Clark quickly followed suit, turning the corner to see an annoyed Bruce Wayne searching for the coat. .

“You again? Look I’m flattered you’re such a big fan of mine, but I don’t do autographs.” Bruce huffed with a twinkle in his eye attempting to be carefree, but that did little to mask the heavy impatience in his voice.

“No no, of course not… Mr. Wayne, I must insist on getting a few statements from you.” Clark stumbled, straightening his posture to make up for the lack of confidence in his voice.

“Guess I’ll get you a tequila shot instead of whiskey next time… Fine go ahead,” Bruce said with a dismissive sigh, as he rummaged through the rack.

A distinct ring and a soft blue light emitted from one of the jacket pockets and Bruce immediately scooped it up. Clark was slightly annoyed that Bruce was immediately glued to his phone, reading whatever message he had just received, completely disregarding his presence. Probably about an after-party he was rushing to. Clark rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.

“So, about earlier. Your past business partnership with Mr.Damera-“

  
For the third time that night, Clark was cut off. But instead of another rambling billionaire, it was a deafening boom that shook the foundation of the building.

Screams erupted from the venue as rough voices and sounds of ammunition rounds being loaded echoed.  
A robbery.


	2. Bullet Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A robbery breaks out at the event but the gunmen are looking for more than just jewelry,

A piercing white light engulfed the atmosphere, blinding Bruce and catching him off guard.

But it was the deafening boom that knocked him off his feet.

A surprised cry was strangled from his throat as he was flung backward by an explosive force, his skull greeting the wall with a sickening crack. Pain radiated in his head as the world span violently, threatening to push him over the edge of consciousness. A small knot of urgency grew in his stomach, his hand unconsciously grasping for a utility belt that wasn’t there.

_Breathe. Assess your surroundings._

The distant demands for jewelry and wallets were all he needed to confirm this was an armed robbery. The explosion must have been a smart distraction for the security, and it worked well: he could hear desperate cries and utter panic from the guests.

The guests.

Clark.

Bruce hastily pushed himself to his feet, his vision swirling as he clutched the wall to stabilize himself. Instinctively he shot his hand to the back of his head, grimacing as his palm came back soaked in blood. Alfred was not going to be impressed. 

Focusing hard to steady his vision, he glanced over at the dazed reporter sprawled face-first on the ground. All previous annoyance he had with the man had vanished and was replaced with concern.

“Are you okay? You hurt?” Bruce yelled over the chaos, stumbling over and hauling the reporter up with more effort than he’d ever care to admit.

_Shit, this man was heavy._

“I’m okay! What about you…you’re bleeding! “ Clark spluttered.

Bruce bit back a sarcastic remark and instead gave the reporter a once over to confirm he was indeed okay. Now for the other guests. He shifted his focus to the chaos erupting in the main room. Lucikly for him and Clark they were tucked away in the hallway from view, but it did nothing to ease his worries as panicked screams echoed through. He had his suit in the car, but there was absolutely no reason for Batman to make a public appearance at Metropolis. Even his stubbornness recognized the glaring coincidence of Bruce Wayne and Batman visiting at the same time. He would have to sit this one out.

“Watch out someone’s coming!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, glancing down the empty hallway unaware of any incoming danger. Before he could question the reporter, the sudden sound of combat boots pounding against marble floor and a bulky figure charging towards them answered his question. He huffed with impatience; this night couldn’t get any more annoying.

“Thanks for waiting pretty boy. Would love to splat your brains out, but the boss wants you alive.” 

Boss? What did they want from him? Probably money. 

He really needed to stop going to these galas, it practically made him a sitting duck.

A rush of adrenaline surged through his veins, his brain rummaging through dozens of options. He could easily take out the man, but he had the frustrating dilemma of being in the presence of a witness, let alone a nosey reporter. Considering the high-stress situation (or any situation for that matter), he doubted that Bruce Wayne would be brave enough to act. He would have to comply with the gunman’s order.

Clark started to move, and a wave of relief washed over him: the reporter was making a dash to safety. But to his surprise, instead of dashing for the exit, Clark stepped in front of him.

 _What was this moron thinking?_ But Bruce admitted, it was an admirable act of bravery.

Even if it was infuriatingly stupid.

The gunman gave Clark a once over and a sick smile of tobacco-stained teeth tugged at his cracked lips. He didn’t need to hear the shift of the trigger finger to know what was happening. Any thoughts of playing nice and complying went completely out the window along with his patience.

“Sorry there pal, no witnesses and all of that.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he roughly shoved himself in front of Clark, closing the space between the reporter and the bullet. It was his strangled cry that gave him the slightest tinge of satisfaction that he had succeeded. He’d been shot plenty of times before, but that did little to comfort the physical pain. Alfred was _definitely_ not going to impressed. To his pleasant surprise, he felt the burning pain in his shoulder, far away from any of his vitals. If the gunman was aiming to kill, he didn’t do a very good job. Kinda a lousy shot.

_Must be the night for rookies on the field._

Using the gunman’s spluttering shocked state to his advantage, he kicked out swiftly knocking the man onto his back. Within a few seconds, the roles had shifted and now Bruce was bearing the gun. In a fluid motion, he brought the butt of the weapon onto the man’s temple, knocking him out cold with a satisfying thunk. He emptied the ammo and tossed the gun to the floor unceremoniously, brushing the dirt off his suit with an irritated sigh.

He was met with a wide-eyed shocked expression of a man who'd just seen a ghost. With immense relief, from what Bruce could see, Clark looked unharmed.

“Well… h-hopefully, this will suffice for your story.” He joked weakly, but sincerely hoped it was enough because he could barely catch his breath to breathe let alone talk.

The sound of police officers crashing into the venue and ordering the armed robbers to drop their weapons warranted a sigh of relief: the rest of the guests would be safe. That is, if the MCPD honored the same high-quality standards as the GCPD.

“H-how did you- Are you okay?"

He dismissed Clark’s stupid question, instead sluggishly thinking of their next plan of attack. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sudden searing pain in his head, forcing him into the wall for support.

_Shit._

He’d manage to ignore the gash in his head, but his sudden movements had worsened it. His adrenaline was rapidly diminishing now, and the inconvenient issue of bleeding out on the floor made itself known. The edges of his vision blurred, and the world became incredibly light as his legs gave out. Clark’s muffled words sounded miles away, as a loud ringing took the foreground. He squinted up at the blurry face until black dots hungrily consumed his vision.

\-----

When the gunman charged in, Bruce’s demeanor completely changed.

Clark was taken aback. Gone was the smug playful aurora that saturated his overbearing presence, instead it was replaced with a cold frown and attentive sharp eyes.

His x-ray vision had seen the armed figure dashing towards them, and he blurted out a warning to Bruce. Granted it was just one gunman, but Clark was painfully aware of what a single bullet could do to a human.

“Thanks for waiting pretty boy. Would love to splat your brains out, but the boss wants you alive.” The gunman snarled. Without a moment’s hesitation, Clark stepped in front of Bruce covering him from view.

He might not be the man of steel right now, but Ma didn’t raise a coward.

His neck hairs pricked as he felt the pair of bloodshot eyes shift its attention to him instead. The man’s jacket reeked of marijuana and a hint of something else he couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, the dude needed a shower. The man’s intense gaze landed squarely on his chest and didn’t need super hearing to catch the faint shift of his trigger finger.

“Sorry there pal, no witnesses and all of that.”

_Oh great._

His mind desperately grasped for excuses to explain the miracle of a bullet bouncing off his chest like it was a spitball. Perhaps he _just happened_ to be wearing a bullet-proof vest? He could easily dodge the bullet, but there was a chance of it ricocheting off him and hitting Bruce… that was not a risk he would take. He was surprised he hadn’t been in this predicament before, but then again Clark Kent wasn’t usually in the line of fire.

A single gunshot rang out, and his heartbeat halted eye wide with horror.

It had hit Bruce Wayne instead.

Before he could process what was happening, the gunman was suddenly knocked onto his butt and rendered unconscious in one, swift calculated movement. His face immediately screwed up into a look of utter shock.

Did Bruce Wayne just take a bullet for him?

Granted he would have been fine, but Bruce didn’t know that. He immediately tuned into Bruce’s heartbeat and was relieved and astounded to hear the weak but calm beats, a stark contrast to his current wildly racing one. Disbelief crossed his features as he stared at the billionaire casually brushing dirt off his suit. Was this the same man he was talking to earlier? There was no way.

He was snapped out of his shocked stupor by a rough voice with a tinge of… amusement?

“Well… h-hopefully this will suffice for your story.”

The nerve of that man to crack a joke at a time like this.

“H-how did you- Are you okay?“ Clark stammered wide-eyed, bitterly aware the man was indeed not okay. His question was dismissed with a weak wave of a bloody hand. The shock of Bruce’s bewildering actions quickly vanished, concern and panic rising in his throat as caught a hitch in the man’s heartbeat: it was starting to falter. Bruce was now leaning heavily against the wall, his breaths shallow and weak. It took a second for Bruce to collapse, but only half a second for Clark to catch him.

Out of all the powers he had, there was one that time and time again proved to be the most important.

The first-aid training from the boy scouts.

He lowered the man to the ground, ensured his airway was clear, and then propped him up on his lap to reduce blood flow to the wounds. The billionaire was extremely pale but his weak heartbeats provided some comfort.

“Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne, can you hear me?” Panic surged through his voice as the only response he got was sporadic labored breathing. Clark did a quick x-ray scan grimacing as he took stock of his injuries. Gun wound in shoulder, extensive bruising across his back, deep gash in the back of his head… and dozens of scars littering his body?

Clark ripped off his tie, expertly wrapping up his shoulder. He then stripped off one of his sleeves like it was paper, and caringly wrapped it around the head wound. It would have to do for now. A quick x-ray scan told him that the police had secured the perimeter and had already escorted panicked guests outside to safety. The lack of wailing ambulances speeding away gave him the comfort that no one else was seriously injured.

“Hey, Mr.Wayne?...Bruce?” Clark murmured gently but was disappointed when got no response.

With immense ease, he hoisted the smaller man up being incredibly careful not to jostle his injuries, and hastily dashed out to grab the attention of the officers. He frowned noting his once blue tie was now saturated in red. The makeshift bandage wasn’t going to last much longer. 

Within minutes they were whisked outside into the refreshing evening air, his eyes taking a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. He wasn’t used to being out so late. Superman and Clark Kent thrived best in the day with the sunlight. But admittedly, it was quite beautiful being underneath the night illuminated by the silver light of the moon and stars.

“Take good care of him. Please.” Clark murmured, as a team of concerned paramedics took Bruce swiftly from his arms.

Clark was also swarmed by paramedics, annoyed at their insistence to help him.

_I’m not the one with the bullet wound?!_

But nevertheless, he remembered his country boy manners and quietly thanked them. While a nurse was checking his vitals, he noted the police officers emerging from the venue, and wasted no time tuning into their discussion.

“I requested for backup cruisers on 10th and Granville. Five armed suspects fled on foot.”

“Five? I thought six were identified.”

“He’s accounted for. Lieutenant Evans found him disarmed and knocked out cold.”

A note of weary amusement hummed in his throat. He had to give the billionaire credit for being a surprisingly hard hitter. A familiar distinct ding from inside the building pulled his attention away from the conversation.

Bruce’s phone.

Returning the man’s phone was the least he could do.

When the paramedics finally gave him some space, he quickly ducked away and was back into the venue within a blink of an eye. The once elegant event was now a crime scene, spilled champagne and broken wine glasses being the only reminiscence of the party. A single trail of fresh blood against cold white marble stung his eyes.

Bruce’s coat was discarded on the ground alongside his phone. He was surprised to see the device was perfectly unscathed, not even bearing a single scratch. A quick scan and he realized It was enclosed by a military-grade led phone case. He scoffed at the overkill of such protection. But then again, the man probably had confidential business on it. The most recent notification was a missed call, and he noted that there were already three voice mails from the same number. Clark's heart sank, probably a concerned friend. Besides the missed calls, there was a text sent from an unknown ID on the screen as well.

The message was simply two numbers: 35.4515, 82.2871.

Coordinates?

Well, this was interesting.

Clark knew the area and knew it well. Or at least Superman did.

It was in the industry sector near the old, abandoned harbor… and it also happened to have the highest concentration of organized crime in the city. What business did Bruce Wayne have with an abandoned warehouse? Let alone in an area with high criminal activity. Maybe he was blackmailed into a business deal? Bruce Wayne appeared to be quite the airhead, he doubted he would have the ability to orchestrate an evil plan. Before tonight he didn’t know the billionaire could even use his brain.

But still, the coordinates were concerning.

The sound of an ambulance pulling away and the police officers closing off the crime scene steered him out of his thoughts. He tuned into searching for Bruce’s heartbeat a few blocks away and was satisfied that it was now stable.

He frowned and picked up Bruce’s jacket, glancing over to the main room where the officers were. He headed towards them with Bruce’s possessions in hand. As much as he wanted to return Bruce his stuff, these could help with the investigation. The suspicious coordinates and the unknown ID could be linked to the robbery tonight. The matter would be best handled by the proper authorities. 

But the phone illuminated up again with an incoming call from the same number. Clark let it ring out for a few moments, his hand hovering over the answer and decline button. A part of him wanted to answer, let whoever it was know that Bruce was okay… but it was none of his business.

As soon as he declined it, the phone immediately spat out another ding, this time a text.

_“Bruce Thomas Wayne, you’re making me lose what’s left of my hairline. Call me back now.”_

Clark wavered in his steps, his eyes shifting between the text and the police officers who were approaching the hallway entrance. Another ding quietly rang out.

_“Please come back home safe.”_

With a tired sigh, Clark ran his fingers through his ruffled hair and glanced back down at the message. He found his heart aching for someone he didn’t even know. But what he did know was the gut-wrenching pain of worrying about a loved one … and well, he didn’t want anyone else to feel that.

He jostled the phone in his hand and glanced back to where the officers were. He knew what happened when cellphones were “examined for evidence” and although completely legal, it was quite an invasion of privacy. Considering how far Bruce had gone to protect his phone he must have some extremely important documents on here. And even if they were completely irrelevant to the case, they were still at risk of being recorded. Personal messages, photos, business deals…

The man did take a bullet for him.

Returning his friend’s call was the least he could do…

Whether it was exhaustion, empathy, guilt, or a mixture of all three, he let out a frustrated sigh and pocketed the phone before he could change his mind.

Within seconds he was across town, a block away from his apartment. He was thankful for the poor lighting system in his neighborhood as he could appear unnoticed by any passerby. He fished out the phone again, staring back at the text with the coordinates.

Why on earth did he have these? Did it have to do with the robbery?

The gunman tonight stated his “boss” wanted Bruce Wayne alive. But for what reasons were currently beyond him. Perhaps a business conflict or a personal grudge? Maybe both?

Whatever it was he didn’t know yet. 

But he sure as hell was going to find out. 

He creaked opened his apartment door with an immense sigh of relief, soaking in the familiarity of his comforting home. The rather heroic actions of the billionaire came to the forefront of his mind.

Why would he _out of all people_ sacrifice his safety for someone else? Let alone a random reporter he just met? It was an act of unwavering bravery he'd only seen in the highest ranks of the MCPD. 

It seemed to be the more he learned about the man, the less he knew about him. Clark pondered the idea as headed to his kitchen table, a tired smile tugging his lips.

Perhaps the billionaire wasn’t a complete moron.

Grabbing his own cellphone, he keyed in the number from Bruce’s phone.

His call was answered before the first ring even finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it! stay tuned :)

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it, next chapter up soon!


End file.
